


The Tale of Cinderiwa

by Chryselis



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Cinderella AU, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Male Cinderella
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 02:49:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5273681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chryselis/pseuds/Chryselis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, there lived a young boy whose father tragically passed away. His mother remarried a cruel man, who upon her sudden passing took over the boy's childhood home with his two sons and made his life hell. That is until one fated day, our hero met a dashing young man in the woods - who just happened to be a very annoying self-entitled prince.</p>
<p>Will he make it to the ball? Does he even want to go? Why do characters from a story set in 17th century France have Japanese names?</p>
<p>Who knows. Iwaizumi Hajime certainly isn't having any of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Once upon a time

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fairytale turned crack fic. It's so crack that Iwa-chan is forced to break the fourth wall and tell the narrator how ridiculous it is.
> 
> Enjoy this short introduction to what will likely be a whirlwind of romance, drama, annoying princes, and a very frustrated long-suffering main character.

Once upon a time, there was a young boy who lived with his father and mother, not a care in the world. Not a worry in his heart, open and kind, like a child should be. He was dark of hair, like his father who set out to sea, braving the storms to return from foreign lands with wonders untold. He was bright of spirit, like his mother who sung her way from dusk ‘til dawn, waiting for her beloved to return and complete their family.

Thanks to his father's dedication and travels, the boy grew up in a beautiful home, but was raised to remain aware of the luxury that were the whitewashed stone walls embracing crawling ivy. He grew up in the fields, galloping with horses towards the never-ending horizon, sun kissed skin his mark of freedom.

Yet like in many a tale, tragedy could not resist the temptation, and her twisted hands soon crossed their threads of destiny with fatality. The boy grew tall, strong, he grew weary of the lines carving his mother's face into a frown each time his father failed to return in a promised month. He grew tired of waiting, tired of the worried tone his mother tried to conceal from her song.

And so, fate granted him his wish.

There would be no more waiting. No more wondering. No more wandering through ominous halls in the hope of seeing a light flickering ahead in a certain office.

"I'm terribly sorry. He was a great man," said someone the boy really couldn't care less about because never before had he wanted to see his mother stop smiling but why didn't she stop? Why was she still smiling?

"Thank you. I know it must have been difficult to lose the fleet, I'm just glad some of you returned safely," she managed, voice laboured and cracking.

The boy stood tall, towering, defiantly looking ahead as the sound of bad news faded into the distance, and the sound of grief began to pound in his ears.  
But he did not falter. His father was gone and he vowed to look after his mother. If his father could not provide for them, he would. If his mother could no longer sing, he would. If they could no longer find joy, he would breathe it into their lives.

Sadly, determination is not everything. Reality has a way of sheepishly knocking your feelings to the ground, meekly apologising all while laughing snidely at your sorrows.  
To the young boy, the sound of reality was his mother's kind words enveloping another man. It was the "I hope you understand darling, please. I'm not trying to replace your father. But like you said, life goes on right? We can make new memories together. Isn't that exciting?"

The sound of reality was also a weak body wracked with sharp coughs, doctors muttering under their breath and this strange man asking "is there really nothing you can do?"

It was overhearing "No, I'm afraid not. It's just a matter of time now" from a plump bespectacled old fart who had no business passing judgment on when his mother would leave him.

She passed away suddenly, stolen by the illness that had no place invading their home. The boy was told that in one of her last moments, she had chosen to be married to this new man. That way, her estate and her child's care would be provided for, since he was too young to inherit it himself.

"I'll be looking after you now. It's tragic it had to happen in these circumstances, but I'm moving in as soon as possible. You'll finally be able to meet my two sons. Don't worry, I won't leave you to get through this alone," explained the man, whose grating tone was laced with forced sympathy. The boy could only stare into the distance, trying not to picture how his life would be from now on.

"Hajime, are you listening to me?"

_There is no way. No way in hell._

"Mr. Ushiwaka, maybe you should just leave him be for a while," whispered an unnamed acquaintance, who had very little business being there. None of them did. They should all get out of his house, thought Iwaizumi Hajime.

_Wait. My house? This is bullshit, I live in modern day Japan, not 17th century France. What the heck is going on here?_

Stricken by grief, the boy was losing sight of the world around him, his thoughts conjuring up images of a faraway place where he and his parents still lived together happily.

_Shut up. This makes no sense. My parents are alive and fine. And why would my mother marry Ushiwaka? He's my age for god's sakes._

And yet he knew that his life would go on. In their darkest moment, he had already found strength. He could do it again, even if this time he was alone.

_OK fine. I guess I'll give you that one. At least Oikawa isn't here to be all dramatic about it._

He remembered his mother's words, how she had taught him to stay kind and hopeful when the sea took his only hero away from him. As a large carriage drew up to the house, walls more grey than white, ivy now desperate to cling to a remnant of its former glory, Iwaizumi Hajime braced himself. It's not their fault. It's not his fault. This is just a bad turn of events and I won't hold it against them. Maybe this will turn out better than expected, he repeated to himself, a poor attempt at cultivating conviction.

_Yeah maybe this story won't be so bad after all. Keep it going. I wonder if volleyball was already invented in this time? Probably not._

A carriage door opened, and out sauntered his stepfather. Iwaizumi noted that even though only a few days had passed, he had already returned to wearing richly embroidered brocade, no sign of mourning remaining. Roaring laughter could be heard from inside the carriage, out of which soon clambered two boys around his age. Neither of them looked anything like their father. Both were tall for their age. One was bright eyed with messy hair, oddly greying for someone so young. Looking at him, Iwaizumi was reminded of an owl. There was no mistaking the particularity in this boy's appearance.

_Oh god no. Really?_

The other was still concealing his laughter, wide smirk adorning his face. He was equally striking, although for different reasons. This boy had black messy hair, as unruly as his wild expression. Despite his unkempt appearance, he was imposing, and his eyes held a spark that betrayed his true perceptive nature.

_REALLY?_

The realisation hit him that this was his family now. As difficult as it would be to accept, he had no choice, so he might as well make something good of it.

"Hajime, I'd like you to meet my sons, Bokuto and Kuroo. I'm sure you'll get along splendidly."

“Aw man, he looks so grumpy! Living with him won’t be any fun,” jeered the owl-boy, apparently named Bokuto.

“Shh dude, his mother just died! Of course he’s grumpy!” whispered Kuroo, not so discretely elbowing his brother in the stomach.

“Oomph! Oh. Er, yeah. Sorry. Nice to meet you, I’m Bokuto. I’d offer my hand but you look like you probably spent all morning wiping away tears and snot with it.”

Kuroo shook his head while their father remained stoic and focused as ever. The spiky haired youth – yes the black haired one this time, not the owl look alike – extended a hand and looked Iwaizumi straight in the eye.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Kuroo,” he offered, amicable words in utter contrast to the far too tight handshake and competitive fire in his eyes. Iwaizumi reciprocated and promptly looked to his step father to excuse himself. The older man simply nodded, and the exhausted young boy retreated to his room.

_Yeah too fucking right I did. I don’t see this going well. At. ALL._

Despite the blanket of loneliness threatening to engulf him, Iwaizumi looked out to the fields of his youth and felt at least a little glad that he could stay here. His parents could live on not only through him, but also through their home, a testament to all the moments they spent together. His mother had thought of him right until the end, ensuring he wouldn’t lose everything. This place was the very foundation of who he was and a stark reminder of who his parents raised him to be. No matter what, he would honour their memory. And who knows, maybe he would find a new family along the way. He wondered if Ushiwaka’s boys liked riding. Maybe they could all tend to the horses together, he could show them the reaches of their land and the view of the kingdom’s castle from atop the hills.

But those visions of a bright future were quickly smashed to pieces, along with one of the hand painted his vases his father had brought back after a long trip, apparently once native to China.

“BRO watch out! We’re not supposed to throw the ball inside!”

“Yeah well maybe if your reflexes were good enough to catch, it wouldn’t be a problem BRO!”

Iwaizumi couldn’t yet differentiate the brothers’ voices well enough to tell which the culprit was. A nagging feeling told him that in the future, they’d each cause enough trouble that it wouldn’t matter.

“Boys, be more careful will you,” came Ushiwaka senior’s voice, and for a split second Iwaizumi hoped a reprimand was to follow – “lets at least make sure some of this junk arrives to the dealer in one piece, shall we?”

Needless to say, as the months and years passed Iwaizumi and his new family showed no sign of ever getting along.

_Yeah, big surprise there._

But little did he know, fate still had many more wondrous twists and turns in store for him.

_Great. Just great. I can’t wait._


	2. Every cloud has a silver lining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our hero does nothing wrong, stepfamilies in fairy tales are insufferable, things go from bad to worse, and Iwaizumi Hajime hates the narrator almost as much as he hates how insufferable Oikawa is on Valentine's Day.

Four years after his step-family moved in, on the day Iwaizumi Hajime turned seventeen years old, something snapped inside him.

Every day, he had held tightly to the memory of his mother whispering to herself like a holy mantra, standing before the large bay windows of their living room, looking out to the mansion's gates.

For years, he had watched her practice this golden rule, never complaining, never faltering.

And now, listening to Bokuto and Kuroo debate over which of them could keep a ball in the air the longest for the 47,254th time while sweeping up the broken pieces of one of his mother's last remaining ornaments, Iwaizumi Hajime muttered under his breath:

"Patience is a virtue."

"Huh, did you say something Hajime?" asked Bokuto, who lost his concentration and found a leather ball meeting his face sooner than anticipated, Kuroo's laughter and own red face soon following. Bokuto hit Kuroo on the head and pointed to Iwaizumi, raising his voice:

"DUDE my record is ruined now! This was going to be it! Why are you always in the way, you good for nothing scrub?!"

_“Scrub”? Isn’t that a little too anachronistic? Wow I said anachronistic. Oikawa would be proud. Anyway not impressed by your consistency here._

Torn away from his thoughts, Iwaizumi stood up briskly, dustpan and brush in hand. He begrudgingly apologised and left the room to the sound of Kuroo and Bokuto bickering about him. He forced air out of his nostrils, concentrating on breathing, reminding himself not to blame the brothers for their upbringing. After all, had his parents not been such kind and charitable people, he may also have suffered from the same short sightedness that is arrogance and self-entitlement.

_Are you implying that Ushiwaka is so arrogant and self-entitled that any of his children would be brats? That's a little harsh. Understandable I guess, Oikawa would agree. You remind me a lot of Oikawa, it's worrying. Still there's no way I would put up with this though._

Every day, he resisted the temptation to run away. _Just one more year_ , he thought, one more year and I can apply to join the royal guard. Ushiwaka promised that if I keep my head down and do as he says, he'll give me a good recommendation just to get me out of his sight. And when I rise in rank I can return and claim my inheritance back.

_Nice save, slipping in that character motivation there._

He recalled the agreement. The lifeline that kept him from grabbing one of those stupid leather balls and forcing it down Kuroo and Bokuto’s throats. The moment Iwaizumi had decided that he truly and definitely hated his step-father. It was not long after they had first moved in, and Ushiwaka had summoned Iwaizumi to his father's - never would it be that bastard's - office to talk about his future.

"Hajime. What do you want to do when you are older?"

"Sir, my father said I would inherit his trading company. But I always wanted to be a knight. I want to protect people."

Ushiwaka laughed in response, but it wasn't a laugh full of sunlight and promises like the one he had heard escape from the man when his mother was still alive. It was pity and bitterness, as if the boy before him were merely a stain waiting to be scrubbed off one of his pristine polished boots. Ushiwaka stood up and turned his back to Iwaizumi to look out of the window.

"You do realise," he began, and turned to face the young teen to look down at him, "that only sons of knights and nobles are invited to join the royal guard. Either that, or you must undergo military training from a very young age and receive a recommendation from your master."

"Yes sir, I understand," replied Iwaizumi, pulling back his shoulders to stand taller, "I’m not the son of a noble nor did my mother allow me to go to the academy when I was younger. So I will take over my father's company."

The air between them was heavy, and Ushiwaka stood rigid, uncaring. Iwaizumi had known from the beginning that nothing indebted this man to him except for any remaining love for his mother. And although he was young, he understood that love is a fickle thing. He had seen young men chase a woman one week and another the next, leaving tears in their wake. He had seen his own mother mourn the death of his father, and then held his tongue when she took another man.

“Indeed, it is also my understanding that your father had planned for you to become a trader and uphold the family estate when you come of age. However, I have sold off the last part of his shipping company. You are too young and I have no interest in running it myself or overseeing it."

One of the last parts of Iwaizumi's world crumbled, but he said nothing. "There is always hope," his mother would have said, "and remember that people are often cruel because they are themselves hurting too." Maybe he was just hurting. Maybe seeing his lost lover's son every day reminded him of that hurt. Iwaizumi grit his teeth and still said nothing.

"Bokuto and Kuroo are primed to inherit superior ranks in the guard or a place at court through my name and reputation," Ushiwaka continued, looking down his nose at his stepson, "but I can't promise the same for you. You don't have the noble heritage to forego training, which you should've joined at the age of 10. However, if you stay in my good graces until you come of age, I will put in a recommendation for you and you are never to come to me for anything again."

The young Iwaizumi had bowed, uttered a genuinely grateful "thank you sir, I promise I won't let you down", and set his young eager heart on a dream he'd once thought best forgotten.

_Wow well that settles it I guess. That's a reason for me to stick around. Maybe you have thought this out after all._

And yet, no matter the promise of greater return, every man has his breaking point. For four years, Iwaizumi bore the brunt of Bokuto and Kuroo's jokes, pranks, and annoying games. The broken vases, the lost mementos. The shrieking and howling laughters at all hours of day and night, the jeering and name calling and taunting to try and lure him into a fight. The cold shoulder from his stepfather, the loneliness, the empty feeling that had taken residence in his gut. All these grievances gradually replaced happy memories, and he took to the fields to train, ride horses, and focus every living moment on the thought of a place better than here. Engineered thoughts took over his mind as he left the scene of the latest stepbrother induced carnage. Fresh air, he thought, deep breaths, exercise. None of this will matter soon. Once outside he happened upon one of the brother's many balls that had taken over his home. At first he hadn't understood why his stepfather indulged that odd pastime of theirs so much, so he had picked up a ball one evening and tried it for himself. Weirdly enough, it was fun. There was something satisfying about watching the ball rise and arch through the air. Something oddly nostalgic about the sting in his fingers after tossing it too many times to count. So, once in a while, when the brothers weren't in sight, Iwaizumi Hajime allowed himself a moment of indulgence and forgot his worries, throwing them as high up into the sky as his arms would allow.

_This whole not so subtle reference to volleyball is also really pushing it. Are you sure even old leather balls were invented then? This adds nothing to the story whatsoever._

Until Bokuto and Kuroo caught him in the act.

"WOAH HAJIME PUT THAT DOWN NOW!" yelled Bokuto, eyes wide and hurt, as if what Iwaizumi playing with his ball was a matter of life or death.

"Yeah dude that isn't yours, and we need it now," supplemented Kuroo, voice not quite but just about inching into a threat.

_OK fine I'll shut up, can't I have a single moment of peace and quiet in this story?_

Although it had kept him afloat so far, Iwaizumi's patience was wearing thin, and the wisdom it usually provided was unable to stop him from engaging in what he would normally consider a completely fruitless debate.

_Oh come ON I know better than that! Have I upset you? Has my opinion of this stupid story hurt your feelings?_

"There's another right there. And plenty in the house." Iwaizumi retorted, tone on the constant edge of annoyance that held his anger at bay without quite letting on to it.  
"Yeah but father said we have to keep the outdoor and indoor ones separate, since we dirtied his best coat last time."

“Like I said, there's another one right there. Can’t you just toss one ball between the two of you? Or even one of you toss it with me?”

“Why would we do that? This is about who can hold it up the longest!" exclaimed Bokuto, aghast that his poor stepbrother didn't have the common sense to understand the clearly very obvious and entirely logical reasoning behind their game.

“Yeah. Bokuto is losing too so you can’t stop us now," added Kuroo, anxious to set the score between them straight so their stepbrother didn't get the wrong idea.

“AM NOT!”

“Are too.”

“Eurgh, I can’t believe you guys still do that," Iwaizumi interrupted before they could build up any momentum, "aren’t you bored of that game by now anyway?”

“HEY!” Both the boys shouted in unison, the travesty coming from the other's mouth too much to bear. Bokuto clenched his chest in pain and Kuroo put his hands over his ears, their very identity threatened by these inconvenient ball-related truths.

“Surely it’d be more fun to pass the ball between each other," continued Iwaizumi, still hopeful he could get through to them, "maybe we could all play together then.”

“Dude, you’re such a killjoy," Kuroo shook his head, "there’s no way we’d want to play with you.”

"Yeah just look at you. That grumpy face doesn't know the meaning of fun."

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes at them. There wasn't really anything else he could do, and he resented the hopeful part of him that believed otherwise. “Fine. Good. I’ll just head back inside then." Iwaizumi turned on his heels, intent on heading straight to his room to forget he had to engage with his stepbrothers again at mealtime.

_I don't know what I expected. At least you made me try._

Kuroo's face lit up and he leaned in close to Bokuto, whispering an excited "I have an idea!" into his ear.

_You just have to make everything worse, don't you?_

Before any of them knew it, the leather ball was leaving Kuroo's hands and flying through the air at great speed towards Iwaizumi. Unfortunately for the brothers, Iwaizumi heard the sound of the ball against fingertips and in a split second turned around to catch it. The brothers froze and automatically pointed at each other, awkwardly laughing, tension rising while Iwaizumi stood and glared at them, fingers digging into the stretched hard surface of the incriminating bloated object.

"So this is how it is then? After I tried to be nice to you guys, you just have to throw it back in my face again?"

The two troublemakers gulped. They had teased and pranked their stepbrother for years, but never had they seen him get angry. Bokuto tugged gently at Kuroo's sleeve and nodded towards the house, plotting an escape route to somewhere their father was likely to hear if they made noise. But before they could move, the ball was back in the air, guided towards them with violent speed in Iwaizumi's stead.

_Finally, some action. I was worried you were going to make me go back to my room and cry or something._

Kuroo failed to catch the ball but managed to toss it back into the air for Bokuto to follow up with another hit, even stronger than the last. Iwaizumi stood his ground and refused to buckle, flexing his legs and reaching his whole body out to steady the ball with a toss before hitting it back at them, again harder. As the exchange began to accelerate, the brothers looked at each other once more and nodded. This time Bokuto steadied the ball and lifted it for Kuroo, who jumped into the air to hit it as hard as possible at Iwaizumi.

Only to be foiled again, Iwaizumi catching it in mid-air and recoiling at the hit. Iwaizumi held the ball for a few seconds, out of breath and seething.

“You want your stupid ball game? Fine. But don’t you dare think you can hit me from behind in such a cowardly way again.” The brothers craned their necks towards each other, curiosity getting the better of their instinct for self-preservation.

“Oho?”

“Oho ho?”

"Is our angry hedgehog making threats now?"

"What on earth will he do, our little hedgehog with a ball?"

He hadn't been so sure, but that final insult got to him. Iwaizumi threw his head back, shoulder muscles tense and aching for a hard hit. He exhaled, ball held tight against his chest, an extension to his breathing. Carefully, he shifted his weight onto his front foot, bending his knees slightly, ready to pounce. Iwaizumi threw the ball into the air one last time. It rolled off his fingers as if the movement of arm, hand, and ball were one, sending it high into the air, firing it, spinning from the heat channelled through his shoulder. His eyes glistened as he paused for a second, full of anticipation, before running towards the ball, jumping, and hitting it towards the brothers with all his might.

Kuroo and Bokuto barely had time to panic yet luckily (or not, depending on who you side with) avoided what would've been a painfully dangerous shot to either of their faces. Instead of letting it slide and roll off into the distance, they both clambered to hit it back, desperate not be shown up by their stepbrother's apparent mastery of their own favourite toy. In their skirmish for the ball it spun back into the air, out of control, still violent from Iwaizumi's powerful shot, and the next wanton hit sent it straight into one of the house's windows.

The sound of glass shattering was enough to bring them all together, at least for a few moments. Iwaizumi looked to Kuroo who looked to Bokuto who looked back to Iwaizumi, glances passing blame way faster than they could've passed the ball to each other. Of course, it was far from the first time they'd ever broken anything. But they'd never broken anything that would need repairs, only ornaments that Ushiwaka deemed "unfit for a family of our stature anyway". Iwaizumi could see whatever small gears powered the dastardly duo’s brains turning, faces pale and drained at the possibility of being blamed for such damage. They looked at each other thoughtfully, then at Iwaizumi again, and started shouting:

“OH MY GOD HAJIME WE TOLD YOU NOT TO TOUCH THE BALL!”

“YEAH THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT LOOK WHAT YOU DID FATHER WILL BE SO ANGRY!”

“You’re too clumsy to be trusted with anything this is why we never hang out with you!”

“We told you this was a bad idea!”

“Yeah this was a spikingly bad idea!”

“Dude what. Is that even a word? Let alone a pun?”

“I dunno bro his hair is so spikey and he has a spikey personality and I thought the way he hit the ball was kinda like spiking it in the air.”

“Um okay I see where you were going there bro but no. Spiking a ball makes no sense.”

_Oh my god did you really just do that? That was awful. Not even close to being funny. Also me singlehandedly inventing volleyball is ridiculous. This whole thing is ridiculous. Who are you and why is this happening?_

Listening to their argument devolve, our long suffering hero snapped, questioning what cruel god had chosen to inflict this fate upon him.

_Wait. Is this god? Am I dead? Is this purgatory? Oh fucking hell._

Not only did his stepbrothers' idiocy reach new heights, but it was at the expense of a part of his beloved childhood home. His only heritage. It wasn't any old window they broke, but a stained glass window that his mother had painted herself, a fond memory of the forest flowers they used to go and admire together when he was little. There is only so much a man can take. And when he reaches that point, the body takes over and sense is cast away like an unwanted relic of happier days. Iwaizumi had reached that point, lost control and stormed up to the brothers, interrupting their stupid spat:

"Do you have any idea what you've done? Do you not care? Is all that's on your mind really just having a laugh and passing off any problems onto someone else? Why can't you just shut up and do something useful for once, or I don't know, apologise?"

The taller two squared him up, inching over Iwaizumi's barely shorter frame.

"Woah don't get all up in our faces like that. It's not our fault you were being a show off and trying to throw that ball in our faces." Kuroo growled, reaching out and grabbing Iwaizumi's shirt.

"You knew you shouldn't have touched our stuff in the first place, so back off." Bokuto's eyes were suddenly sharp and alert, body tense, his fists clenched. They were on edge, resentment and tension bubbling between them, ready to explode and then -

"Whatever. You two are just selfish brats. I'm done with you."

\- Iwaizumi lit a match that blew everything up.

When Ushiwaka burst through the front door of their home, the three boys were wrestling, a mess of limbs and cuts and bruised egos. He stood in shock, processing the sight of the smashed window, his precious boys covered in dirt rolling on the ground, and the despicable urchin that had brought them down to his level. While he was partial to those he disliked getting put in their place, even the level of insults flung between the teens was painful for him to hear.

"Your hair looks like a hedgehog. A stupid angry hedgehog!"

"Yeah? Well you look like an owl with those huge eyes and dumb hair of yours!"

"Don't be mad because you can't be as effortlessly cool as us!"

"Shut up, you look like a street cat that got drenched in the gutter!"

"SILENCE!" thundered a commanding voice across the courtyard, shocking the boys back to reality. They scrambled to their feet, Bokuto and Kuroo quick to separate themselves from Iwaizumi in their father’s field of vision.

“Bokuto. Kuroo. Get up, notify one of the servants to come and clean this mess up, and then clean yourselves up. We’re going to visit Lord Washijou for dinner and you need to make a good impression on his daughters.”

The boys scrambled to their feet and disappeared into the house faster than they could make any more incriminating puns, leaving their stepbrother to face their father alone.

“Iwaizumi Hajime." His tone was such that the glowering man could have spat on the ground and achieved the same effect.

"Stepfather," came the boy's curt reply.

The two men stared each other down, measuring their options. The little stability in their relationship had thus far been preserved by Iwaizumi's impressive ability for good behaviour. Never had he given his stepfather a single excuse to treat him badly, even though it was clear the man was aching for an opportunity. Now the day had come his prospects were bleak. Should he apologise? While it might appease his stepfather a little, it was tantamount to confessing to a crime. Attempting to shift blame in the situation would only anger him more, and he didn't want to cause a huge argument.

_Knowing this story there's not a single thing I can do. Just bring the hurt already._

All in all, Iwaizumi didn't know how his stepfather was going to react, and he refused to give him any extra ammunition. So, he said nothing. Across the courtyard, Ushiwaka crossed his arms and began to drum his fingers against his arm in rising frustration. Now a maidservant had arrived to clear the glass, he seemed to hesitate. Ushiwaka may have disliked his stepson, but he still wanted to be perceived as a fair and just man by his employees. And so, he also said nothing.

It was a stalemate.

The confrontation was drawn out by the maidservant's work, who hurriedly gathered shards of the broken window into a container. Howls of angry wind blew gravel and dirt across their feet, tense bodies unflinching, the courtyard between them as hot as the midday sun causing sweat to form on their furrowed brows. Only clinks of shattered glass and the occasional gasp from the seemingly terrorised young girl broke the silence.

_Is this... Is this a mexican standoff? Is that even allowed in a fairy tale?_

Ushiwaka looked to the maid, then to Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi stared right back, then snuck a glimpse at the maid to approximate how much time he had left until all hell broke loose. The maid did her best to avoid both their gazes, squeaking in fright under the pressure of the situation. Her work done, the anxious maidservant excused herself with a "sir I will see that a tradesman come repair the window at the earliest convenience" and scurried off like a mouse.

"Iwaizumi Hajime," repeated Ushiwaka, "I'm highly disappointed in you."

Iwaizumi felt like he was expected to bow his head in shame, so he didn't.

"This is the last straw."

_Last straw of what? It's pretty clear I've done nothing wrong in this story._

"I see by your expression that you think you've done nothing wrong."

_Gah you've got to stop doing that! Don't read my thoughts, this isn't fair!_

"Don't go thinking that just because this is where you grew up, you are entitled to any kind of preferential treatment. Nor because I once favoured your mother, that I should be obliged to raise you like one of my own."

_Yeah as if I'd want that, look how they turned out._

"You would do well to learn to keep sarcastic thoughts from showing on your face. It's obvious how you feel about my sons, and about me. Even though we have our differences in character, I was ready to accept you, at the very least tolerate you, out of respect for your mother and her will."

The repeated mentions of his mother were having the desired effect. Iwaizumi drew a deep breath and clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms.

"But today you crossed a line. By laying a hand on my sons, you cast away any favour you may have built up with me. I appreciated your respect, Hajime. You and I had an understanding, and I only asked one thing of you. You behave, and I will arrange a future for you that brings you happiness that gets you out from under my feet. I wanted to honour one last of your mother's wishes.

And yet, you had to go and do this. You destroyed part of our house, your home. You fought with Kuroo and Bokuto, who you could have injured. You rolled around in the dirt like an animal and acted in an utterly disrespectful manner. Get out of my sight."

Panic set in. Iwaizumi was on the verge of losing everything.

"But sir, it's only one more year! You said when I turned eighteen -" he blurted out, a desperate attempt to keep his dream alive.

"You still want to join the royal guard? You expect me to put my reputation on the line to do you a favour, after this?"

This time Iwaizumi did stare at the ground. He couldn't stand tall anymore, not in the face of such unfair treatment. Not if it meant having to beg for one more favour.

“Alright. On one condition. You will stay here, but you are no longer part of my household. You will no longer be treated as an equal to my sons. You will live in the servant’s quarters, and share their duties. You will wait on our every need and if you succeed in not angering me in the next year, I will grant you your recommendation. You are dismissed.”

Anger not yet tempered by reason, Ushiwaka turned and headed back into the house, deaf to any retorts Iwaizumi may have offered. In his haste he failed to notice two onlookers, the maid from earlier and the head manservant timidly peeking out of the broken window at the scene that unfolded before them.

Iwaizumi was left stunned. Overcome by a suffocating mix of relief and disgust, he slumped to the ground. Really, he didn't mind the idea of being treated as a servant. If anything, it would be an improvement on his current situation. There would be no more pretenses, no more forced social interactions with his stepbrothers. On top of that, his arrangement with Ushiwaka was still intact. From the right perspective, it was a win-win situation. He also liked the servants that worked on the estate, and they would probably be sympathetic to his situation. The boy sighed, resigned to his fate. He stood up, shaking what dirt and dust he could off his shirt and patting down his breeches, one resounding thought drowning out all else in his mind:

"Just one more year."

_Wow. Something positive had better happen soon or your story is going to be a total flop. Do I get to save a princess? Do I become a knight, gain favour with the King, and return to kick my stepfamily out of my childhood home? Do I leave this dreadful place, go on an awesome journey, and come back to rub my riches in my stepfather's face? PLEASE let it be something good._

Yet sometimes it is best to not place too much hope in the future, for tomorrow has the infinity of possibility up its sleeve.

_When will I learn not to expect anything from you..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If, like Iwaizumi, you thought this chapter was bad enough - just wait until Oikawa gets introduced and he has a showdown with the narrator in the next.


End file.
